Chaplain's Revenge
by made.for.life
Summary: A short smut piece mostly for trial of the style used by the author of Catch-22. If you don't like it please, please don't read it.


The chaplain hurried along the road with distress. He hadn't done a single thing today but there was a heavy guilt resting on his consciousness. He ducked down into the sordid trench to scuttle along its base. This particular string of absent earth he had shifted himself and it ran to the edge of his clearing. A noise startled the chaplain into stopping. Suddenly a weight fell upon him.

"Omf." The chaplain groaned as he was crushed beneath another being far larger than he.

"Caught you." The man closer to heaven said.

"Yossarian?"

The dark haired man lifted his head. Yossarian pushed himself up off the chaplain. "You're not Major Major."

"No. I'm not." The chaplain said lying on the ground trying to catch his breath. He was a bit disappointed though. "If you're looking for him I think you might try that direction." He pointed off in any direction available.

"I'm not."

The light haired man looked back quizzically. "But you just said I wasn't him."

"I was simply stating a fact. You are not Major Major nor are you Sergeant Whitecomb nor Nurse Duckett." Yossarian crossed his war worn arms.

"Well no." The chaplain went to stand up.

He gritted his teeth in pain; something was wrong in his leg. He wiggled his toes. Not broken. It hurt though. He staggered a bit. How far had he come and how much farther did he have to go? Suddenly he was no longer connected to his precious earth. He was floating on twin trees keeping the pain away. If he twisted his head one way the ground treaded passed him without moving his feet. If he looked the other way he was looking at a familiar mountain.

"Y-Yossarian!" He stuttered.

The man's dark eyes caught his questioningly.

"What are you doing?"

"Carrying you." He explained as though anyone could see it.

Anyone could see it though, or at least that someone was being carried in the dead of night. It was plain as daylight. He was being carried towards his clearing. He felt like he was flying. Flying made him sick and this flying did not. He didn't struggle. It wouldn't have made a difference anyhow. The chaplain instead made a study of the underside of Yossarian's chin. It was shaved clean cut as the army required. It wasn't until they neared the chaplain's tent that he put up a fuss.

"Wait, wait!" He pushed off of the soldier. "Sergent Whitecomb is here and he won't approve."

"I don't approve of his disapproval." Yossarian said cryptically. "Wait and see."

They entered the tent. There sat Whitecomb asleep at the chaplain's desk. His muddied boots sat on the blanket that the chaplain slept beneath. Yossarian stamped his foot startling the Sergeant awake.

"I'm a captain." The man growled. He jerked his thumb under the chaplain's legs. It made the man roly-poly in his arms. "Screw!"

The Sergeant jumped up fearfully and ran out of the tent. Yossarian set the chaplain down hurriedly and picked up Whitecomb's boots tossing them at the fleeing figure. The second one collided with his skull and sent his sprawling unconsciously into the trench.

"That probably offended him as well." The chaplain sighed.

He looked at the blanket. The larger man picked it up and scraped off the dried mud. The captain took the raggedy cotton out and beat it. A tumulus series of thuds made it sound like a fist fight. Yossarian fought the blanket until no more puffs of dust flew off when he hit it.

He walked it back inside. "Cleaner than his will be tomorrow."

"What do you mean?" The smaller man asked as he worked the buttons down the front of his shirt. The chaplain propped himself up on the GI pillow and twisted his GI shirt off and hung it on a GI tent pole all from his GI bed.

Yossaria sat on the edge of the sturdy double sized cot given to important officers. He put the blanket next to him and lay a hand on the man's chest.

The chaplain looked up at him blinkingly. "What are you doing?"

"You ask that too much." Yossarian said with a single blink.

His hand crept circles over the thin pale chest. The chaplain flushed and the flush ran straight down disappearing beneath his GI pants. The larger man traced the blush down and skimmed over the tops of his thighs. Then he ran back up to the twin dusky spots standing at attention.

"Don't you know there's a parade going on?" Yossarian whispered very close to the pale chest.

One hand gumshoed its way under the chaplain's fly. The man gasped. Yossarian summoned up his length with teasing fingers and rolled on the cot hovering over the one he had fallen in love with at first sight. Their clothing evanesced by Yossarian's large hands.

"Y-Yo-Yo." The chaplain stuttered unable to get the full word.

"That's what my friends call me." Yossarian said over the chaplain's cock like a microphone.

His tongue ran up the strip under his scrotum then down, down much lower. Down to an unbreached vestibule. The light haired man wriggled and writhed at the strange sensation. The wet hot flesh of tongue ringed him then dipped in and out. He windmilled his arms trying to find a place for them. One finally settled in the dark hair of his companion and that was it. Digits joined the tongue, searching, trenchanting his depths. A place inside sang at a touch. There wasn't enough though and the chaplain begged, pleaded, whined for more.

"Please." He cried.

Yossarian caught his imploring lips gently and kissed them. He distracted the smaller man with his oral games while he pushed the tip of his cock into the too tight entrance to hell's fire within the man of God. He slowed his steady shove making his body tremble gelatinously. The chaplain just pushed back against him. The pain was good, too good. He needed more. Just as it got close to the point he needed, the soldier pulled out.

"No." He whined.

The chaplain screamed as Yossarian pushed back in. The soldiers down below looked off into the distance and pitied the poor soul whose nightmare screams joined Hungry Joe's and the multitude of others. The chaplain just lolled his head back panting and whining.

The black haired man put his mouth to the other's ear. "What's my name?"

"Yossarian." He whimpered.

Teeth scrapped his ear lightly. "Call me by my real name, my first name, call me John."

"John?" His voice barely worked, the conversation passed him by.

"That's it Al-bert." He put a long space in the midst of his name to puff sex heated air into the sinuosity of the chaplain's ear.

His own name sent tingles springing down his spine. He arched his back up every time Yo- John came in. The cot rocked as they found an inept rhythm. The rickety few strands of metal and cloth couldn't take anymore. The entirety of them barrel rolled to the floor. Yossarian landed on his back still connected to the chaplain. The light haired man sat up with his eyes watering. He still needed more. The chaplain used his arms to create the motion from before.

"Lord above." The floored man gasped.

"And John below." The Captain said worshipfully.

The chaplain impaled himself again and again. He was panting and crying now, barely there in his mind. His caterwauling froze the male beneath him. Yossarian could do nothing but watch as he reached his orgasm and the chaplain constricted around him. Yossarian bucked upward coming hard inside of him. Come spilled over their conmingled body. The sandy haired young chaplain gave him a dazed look. He was beatific; sitting on the soldier's hips covered in liquid and flushed hot red.

"John." The chaplain said with his eyes closing.

He passed out and the large hands belonging to Yossarian caught him gently. He rolled the man to the floor withdrawing his limp hymn. Without clothes, as he was used to, he walked out of the tent and into the other. He quickly discovered Sergeant Whitecomb's GI blanket. The chaplain was still out when Yossarian traipsed in. He carefully winnowed the pleasureful liquid from their lithe bodies. The vile blanket was tossed out the flap open tent right into the soggy mud.

"Take that." Yossarian whispered.

He lifted the chaplain and righted the cot with his foot doing a quavering balancing act. He laid out the chaplain and pleated himself in next to the man. He usually wasn't much of a cuddler but he would make this one exception. Yossarian sighed caressing the smaller man. The chaplain snuggled to him unconsciously. The soldier smiled and nuzzled his own face down to the pallid skin. The pair fell to a gentle slumber.


End file.
